She was gesturing to the knight, several feet away. Strode directed the carriage wildly in that direction, so hastily that a wheel caught in a hole near the road and ripped it right offthe axel. The carriage collapsed onto one side, narrowly missing falling on Luke.
Strode was pitched off, rolling several feet away. But he was unharmed and called frantically to the women.
“My lady!” he cried. “Are you hurt?”
Her voice was muffled, annoyed. “No thanks to your driving.”
If she was insulting him, then she must be well indeed. Strode crawled to the downed knight, listening to the howl of war around him as an unknown army emerged from the grove of trees to the northeast of the road. Metal hit upon metal as men met in battle. The peace of dusk quickly turned to chaos.
“My lord,” Strode crawled up on Luke, helping him to sit. “Are you badly injured?”
Luke grimaced. “Not too,” he said. “It is lodged in my arm. If you can get it out, I can still fight.”
Neither one of them saw Alixandrea climb from the top of the wagon, exposing herself to flying arrows as she leapt to the ground. She fell to her belly, completely ruining her kirtle, and crawled to the men. She was horrified to see the arrow sticking out of the young knight.
“Dear God,” she breathed, wanting to examine him but not wanting to hurt him. “Is it bad?”
“Not bad,” Luke said as an arrow zinged overhead. “Remove this thing so that I may help my brother.”
As if hearing his name, Matthew rounded the carriage astride his massive war beast. The creature’s muzzle had been removed for the battle and Matthew’s weapon was drawn. He was hardly recognizable through the menacing three-point helm that he wore.
“Get inside the carriage,” he roared. “Luke, for God’s sake, get her back inside where it is safe.”
Luke nodded, acting as if he was still a fully functional knight and not an injured one. “Go,” he said to Alixandrea. “Go before he becomes angry. Hurry.”
The tone in his voice alone was enough to spur her back towards the carriage. They crawled through the grass and dirt, eventually reaching the carriage. Just as they did, a barrage of arrows peppered the underbelly and Alixandrea shrieked, instinctively putting her hands over her head to protect herself. Inside the cab, she could hear Jezebel scream in terror.
“We cannot chance trying to crawl in,” she said. “They will surely shoot us down the moment we try.”
Luke had to agree. Many of the arrows seemed to be focused on the carriage. “Pull this arrow out of me,” he half-grunted, half-demanded. “My brother needs my help.”
Alixandrea and Strode looked at each other. There was reluctance in their faces, but they simply could not leave it there. While Strode held Luke by the shoulders, Alixandrea took a good grip on the arrow and yanked it straight back, straight out.
The ugly projectile fortunately came free in one pull, much to everyone’s relief. Alixandrea wasn’t sure if she could pull something like that from a man’s flesh again. Though she’d been exposed to some manner of war her entire life, she had always been kept fairly removed from the horrors of it.
Taking the handkerchief that she had used to ease her own injury, she pressed it against the muscle of Luke’s upper arm to stop the bleeding where the arrow had managed to wedge itself in through the mail and joint. He let her hold the cloth against him for about five seconds before rebelling.
“Enough,” he pushed his way onto his feet. “My brother needs me.”
With that, he was gone, racing around the side of the carriage, mounting his steed and galloping out of sight. Alixandrea and Strode sat in stunned silence, huddling againstthe cab for protection while the battle raged on. There was naught to do but sit and wait.
Wait they did, for a small eternity. The sounds of battle moved closer. It was difficult to tell the size of the enemy, but the men seemed to be fanning out because there was fighting in all directions.
The soldiers she had brought from Whitewell were some of her uncle’s finest, extremely well trained. She knew they would fend off the enemy. However, as the fighting drew nearer, she began to grow concerned. She and her servants had no weapons should they be attacked. Her thoughts were lingering on perhaps finding a stick or rock or stone to protect herself with when a dirty, fighting body suddenly rounded the side of the carriage.
It was a foot soldier, but not one she recognized. It was a man with murder on his mind. As a scream left her lips, the soldier smacked Strode on the head and effectively neutralized him. He was on top of Alixandrea before she could take another breath.
His disgusting body, ripe with stench and dirty chain mail, writhed on top of her. Horrified and in a panic, she thrust her fist into his throat. Off guard, the man wretched horribly and released his grip long enough for her to break free. But she stumbled and he grabbed her surcoat before she could get away completely. He yanked her to the ground and began to overtake her once again.
Alixandrea was terrified. She struck the man, wrestled with him, even bit him on the wrist. She was rewarded with a sharp slap to her face. Suddenly, a body landed on top of her attacker and she realized that Jezebel had crawled from the carriage to help. But the soldier grabbed Jezebel by the hair and flipped her onto her back, knocking the wind from her. Alixandrea could hear her maid gasping for breath.
Renewed in her fight, she flipped over onto her stomach and struggled to get away from him. All he did was rip her kirtle andpull her hair. It was apparent what he wished to do. Alixandrea began to succumb to despair, knowing the man was far stronger than she and wishing she had a weapon. As he turned her over again, she noticed the arrow she had removed from Luke laying in the grass a few feet away. It was her only hope. She managed to throw herself in the direction of the projectile and grab it just as the lecherous soldier turned her over completely. She rammed the arrowhead straight into his eye.
Blood spurted everywhere. The man howled as he fell off of her, suffering through his death throes. There was blood all over Alixandrea’s neck, chest, and in her luscious hair.
Blood was all that Matthew saw as he rounded the corner of the carriage. He, too, was covered in blood and he had a substantial wound on his thigh, but none of that seemed to matter. He practically fell off of the charger, ripping his helm off and tossing it to the ground as he went to her. He thought the blood was hers and horror filled him.
From the road heading south, they could hear what sounded like thunder. As Matthew fell to his knees beside her, Alixandrea did not realize that the roll of thunder signaled reinforcements arriving from Wellesbourne.
